


Rare Pair Week 2016

by PurplePatchwork



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePatchwork/pseuds/PurplePatchwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of seven one-shots I wrote for the tumblr Rare Pair Event 2016, one pairing per story, summaries inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burly Men Come in Many Sizes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Prussia/Russia
> 
> There is a newcomer at the local gym.

Gilbert had noticed him. Oh, he had certainly noticed him. From the first day he started coming to the gym, the tall bulk of Russian paleness had instantly caught Gilbert’s ruby-red eye. He was hard to miss, tall as he was. Muscled too, albeit more in a manner of mass and less in one of definement. He certainly didn’t have the built of Gilbert’s baby brother, who looked like he could easily lift a car above his head without breaking a sweat. This man could probably do so too, but still, there was a hint of softness to him.

Not that it all really mattered. The man was just yet another customer at the gym, slaving away on treadmills and over by the weightlifters. His oddly coloured eyes were trained on the screen (but really, who was Gilbert to judge a man’s eye colour?) as his lips opened in silent pants; silent, because Gilbert simply couldn’t hear them over the music being blasted into his ears. There were bandages around his neck, but really, he wasn’t the only one who appeared a bit roughened up around these parts, so no one had approached him to pry and poke around as of yet. Not because they hadn’t been curious, of course. Gilbert knew  _he_  was curious.

And perhaps also a little interested. For he often found the other giving him a friendly smile upon entering, after which he took a place at the piece of equipment right next to Gilbert’s. There wasn’t any written rule about personal space, but everyone knew to leave a little space in between. If all the treadmills were open safe for one, you just didn’t pick the one right next to it. That was common knowledge.

Not to the burly Russian. He neatly placed down his towel and bottle of water at the foot before stepping on, started to jog right beside him, and left for the showers after almost a full hour of running. All the while sending Gilbert curious secretive glances. Oh, Gilbert had noticed. And every time he found himself being the object of his companion’s attention, he had subconsciously straightened his back, expression becoming more fierce as he sped up for just a moment, finding it funny how he felt the need to impress the other. Perhaps he was jealous of his easily acquired mass, or… simply flattered?

Not that he thought much of it. They were simply two strangers who happened to go to the same gym together, at more or less the same times, as if someone had taken the time to study his schedule by heart, and who shared the occasional glance of interest, like the ones you’d give one another at a bar or a party, a silent “Are you single ready to mingle?” like his friends often said. And Gilbert was indeed, very single, and very ready to mingle. But he didn’t want to look desperate.

Which is why it came as quite the surprise when one day as he finished up, his Russian buddy having left a few minutes ago, he found said Russian still present in the showers. He knew it was him by the exact towel and bottle of refreshing liquid he’d seen every day waiting right there outside the shower stall. Normally, Ivan was already gone by the time he came out to change. Not today, it seemed.

Gilbert shrugged it off and slipped into the empty stall beside his quote-unquote friend. There was nothing wrong with switching up your shower habits every once in awhile. Even if it gave certain albinos nervous butterflies constantly pounding against the walls of his stomach in an attempt to escape.

The red-eyed man was about to take off his clothes when he could hear soft cursing from the stall next to his. He paused, automatically perking his ears. For a long and pregnant moment, only the downpour of hot and steamy water could be heard, but then, there it was again. Soft cursing in a foreign tongue, a constant muttering like the annoyed buzzing of a mosquito. Gilbert put his ear and hands (palm flattened) to the wall, brow furrowed in utmost concentration.

“Everything okay in there?” he asked, almost biting his tongue when he realized that perhaps, they weren’t exactly in the right mindset or position to have a friendly conversation. People usually liked being left alone whilst taking a relaxing shower, even if they had a sailor’s mouth (or what Gilbert could only assume was a sailor’s mouth, if the word  _suka_  was what he thought it was).

The muttering stopped. After a few seconds, so did the water. Gilbert felt his heart rate rise significantly, wondering if perhaps he’d overstepped some invisible boundary. Surely the other had always seemed kind, but he still resembled a brick wall. Another moment of quiet suspense, and Gilbert nearly jumped out of his skin when he could hear a hesitant voice drift through the open door of his stall, carefully tasting every syllable before being let out into the room.

“I… forget towel,” it spoke, voice roughly accented yet pleasantly hoarse in exactly the right places. It tickled goosebumps all over Gilbert’s arms, pulled his lips up into a reflexive grin. He walked over to the door and leant against it, not quite peeking inside of the other’s stall, but giving him the opportunity to look him in the eye if he so desired.

“You’re that new guy, right? The one that always takes up the treadmill next to mine. So you’re a foreigner? Me too, me too. Or used to be.” He nodded his head almost nostalgically. “Forgot to pick a towel up at the entrance?”

“ _Da_ ,” that voice came again, a bit more sourly this time.

Gilbert felt his pulse shoot up his throat as he licked his salty lips before speaking up again. “I can give you mine.”

Another pause.

“But… You need towel?” his companion asked hesitantly, obviously confused, yet pleasantly so. There was even a hint of excitement to it- although that could just as well be the cause of Gilbert’s overly active imagination.

He shook his head, already gathering the fluffy piece of fabric into his arms. “That’s okay, I live close-by! I can just shower at home.” He lifted it up so the other could see his hand in the small strip above his door, temptingly waving the towel back and forth, like a metronome attempting to hypnotize him.

Gilbert straightened up once again when wet footsteps slipped over the floor, and the door was opened to a creak. Tall and handsome curiously peered out, one hand covering his neck, lower body strategically hidden behind the wall- not that Gilbert was actively looking down, of course. Naturally, he was only paying attention to Ivan’s face. And naturally, he came to know by only looking at his face, that the other had a very sturdy-looking chest covered in a platinum dusting of hair, a surprisingly soft belly, and a hint of what appeared to be about the plumpest hips a man his size could ever have. And Gilbert was ecstatic when their hands brushed together as the towel was hesitantly taken, the man (who haphazardly introduced himself as Ivan) giving another one of those smiles that could be a smirk, tempting, teasing, inviting.


	2. At Night the Living Dance With the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Nyo!America/Belarus
> 
> There may exist a ghost who will help Amelia overcome her fear of the supernatural. A very beautiful ghost.

“H-hello?”

Amelia thrust the flashlight in front of her, the object shaking in her hands. She knew this had been a bad idea, a very bad idea! Why would anyone want to go to a place that was haunted? There was nothing to gain! Well, aside from respect and proof that you were among the bravest in your group of friends, but right now Amelia seriously regretted ever taking the challenge.

If only she didn’t have to go alone, knowing her friends were waiting just outside the door, probably betting on how long it would take before she came running back outside, screeching like a little girl and with wet panties.

The grip on her flashlight tightened as she steeled her resolve. Well, she’d show them! She wasn’t named after Amelia Earhart, one of the bravest women in the history in America, because she was a coward! Oh, she’d show them!

Something creaked behind her, and Amelia let out a scream. Her only source of light tumbled to the ground, flickering and dying with a harsh thud. Amelia quickly went down to her knees to retrieve what was currently her most precious treasure, breath ragged as it flew in and out of her throat, heart fluttering anxiously like a small frightened bird.

“Come on, come on, work already!” she whimpered, shaking the object wildly up and down, slapping it with her free hand, everything to get back her light, her safety, the one thing she absolutely _needed_ right now.

Another flicker, and dim light flashed over the walls before her. She sighed in relief before letting out a victorious titter. See? No ghosts were going to get her tonight! No, she had enough sun to chase away the night; she was going to win this challenge!

With a more courageous smile she stood up again, whirling around to continue on her way, before freezing completely. Staring right back at her was a shadowy figure, creeping up on her youthful naivety, most likely ready to devour her.

Amelia let out another choked-out whimper, before fainting on the spot.

* * *

“...ake…”

Amelia let out a small groan, eyes shifting beneath closed eyelids.

“...ake up... irl…”

“Five more minutes mommy,” she sighed, tilting her head to the side, frowning slightly when she couldn’t seem to find her pillow. And why did her head hurt.

“Wake up. This isn’t a hotel.”

Amelia’s eyes began to dance open, slowly regaining sight of the dark room around her. Then they snapped fully open, falling onto a figure crouching over her body, sitting far too close for comfort.

For a moment,  Amelia forgot how to breathe.

Her eyes shot up and down the other’s figure, down and up again, following her slender dress-clad figure to pale skin to beautiful almost luminescent blond locks and finally landing upon dark blue eyes in a porcelain frame, cold and distant, yet not in an intimidating way. She was only a child, after all. About Amelia’s age, in fact.

But then she moved in and Amelia felt a gush of cold fall over her, and where there legs seemed to touch there were only itchy goosebumps.

Amelia moved back, mouth agape in a silent scream, trembling before this both beautiful and terrifying apparition. Something broke in the other’s gaze, and for a moment she seemed exactly like the little girl she once had to have been, small and afraid and most importantly, so, _so_ alone, but then her expression hardened once more, and she protectively tucked her chin into her collar, frowning at her feet.

“Go away,” she mumbled, more to herself than to her visitor. “If you only want to shout at me, just go away. Leave me alone.” She was so tired of seeing everyone run, every chance of friendship or affection fly down the stairs taking five steps at the time, leaving to never return.

Amelia still felt adrenaline being pumped through her veins, still felt icy sweat trickle down her spine, was still very afraid. But for some reason, her legs didn’t want to move, didn’t want to lift her up and take her far away from this place of misery. After all, it wasn’t _her_ prison. It was this girl’s, this ghostly child’s.

Thus, instead of escaping just like everyone before, she moved forward, almost like in a dream, and placed a hand on a frozen shoulder.

“What is your name?” she spoke in a tiny voice, yet perfectly audible in the empty room. Their skin seemed to contrast like sun and moon, day and night, dark and healthy tan on sickly disease.

The other flinched at their touch, not because she could still feel the contact, but because no one had ever willingly come this close to her. Not for as long as she could remember, at least. Looking up, icy glare now replaced by confusion and an almost childlike curiosity, she hesitantly spoke.

“Natalya,” was the name falling from her lips, and Amelia gave a hesitant smile, realizing the girl seemed far cuter when not giving her dead-stares.

“My name is Natalya.”


	3. When Sailors Go Swimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Russia/England
> 
> What happens when you put two men together who can't swim? Disaster.

Arthur had only come to the beach to humour his friends. While they splashed about in the water, he stayed behind with a book to guard their belongings. It wasn’t his fault he had never learnt how to swim. He simply… never bothered to do so. Besides, his new neighbours were interesting enough to keep his sunbathing mind company.

It was a very warm day, perfect beach weather in fact. So of course, everyone had decided to start a mass-immigration towards the sea and its sandy beaches. Families with young children, elderly couples sharing a cone of ice cream, teenagers with their summer tunes turned all the way up. And the newcomers unpacking at the empty spot next to Arthur’s towel. There were three of them, one brother and his two sisters. And the one thing they had in common was that they were pale as all hell.

Just like Arthur guarded his friend’s things, it was the tall and sturdy man proposing to stay behind while his sisters went for a swim. His body resembled a porcelain vase- usually covered up as it stayed inside a house of clothes, now for the first time exposed to daylight. He had bandages around his neck, and sent Arthur a curious sunglasses-covered glance when he noticed the other staring at them. Arthur mentally berated himself. He should know better than to gape like an insolent child!

“Would you not rather be in the water?” a voice roused him from his musings. Head snapping up, he saw the other still looking at him, only now he had perked his shades atop his coupe of platinum to reveal almost purple eyes, a strange hue of violet Arthur had never seen before, grabbing his attention a moment longer than socially allowed. He quickly coughed into his hand when a pale eyebrow was cocked, and spoke up as well.

“I could ask you the same thing, you know,” he pointed out, the other replying with a gleeful giggle far too adorable for a man his size.

“If you say so,  _ comrade _ ,” the other teased, making Arthur feel like he somehow had to defend his honour. With a frown he put his book aside and leapt up, puffing out his chest and marching over to the water. A violet gaze stabbed daggers into his back, but he pretended to blatantly ignore it. He’d show him! Even if they had only known each other for approximately five minutes!

Wading into the cool water, Arthur only came to regret his decision the deeper he went, strong currents pulling at his inexperienced swimming legs. He only needed to make sure that he didn’t go too deep; if he got swept away, he was done for. Arthur could see his friends laughing and playing further away, but knew he couldn’t possibly join them. A look over his shoulder confirmed the fact that his new “friend” was still closely watching him, smirk plastered firmly onto his lips, or at least, Arthur believed it to be a smirk. Damn bastard, mocking him!

He thrusted up a hand and waved at him, opening his mouth, about to shout a “see? I told you so!” And then he could feel his legs being torn away from under him, as if someone had pulled out the chair he was sitting on. One moment he was looking at that cheerfully encouraging expression, the next he could only blink furiously against the raging water.

It was such a strange experience. One moment everything was normal, his head was clear, none of his senses bombarded from all possible directions. Now, he only knew panic. Up was down and down was up, there was a loud buzzing in his ears, when he opened his mouth he only breathed in liquid, and it was  _ suffocating. _ He didn’t like to admit it, but at that moment, he feared his life.

He was alone. All alone in the vast expense of the ocean, only white noise attacking his eardrums, sharp jabs constantly sent to his lungs and ribs and sides, unsure whether what he saw was sunlight or white waves. He was drowning. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Someone else had a different plan.

Strong arms suddenly captured his torso, pulling him up. He gasped for air when he finally resurfaced, coughing up water and spit and sand, everything hurting. He wanted to say thank you to his saviour, until he saw the terrified look on his face as a new wave approached.

“I cannot swim,” the other whispered frantically, and next thing he knew, they were both pulled under once again.

* * *

“Artie, you’re such an idiot.”

“Shut up, Alfred!”

“ _ Brat _ ,  _ chto _ -”

“ _ Nyet, sestra. _ ”

Arthur and Ivan were back where they belonged, on the beach, many towels wrapped securely around their bodies. Arthur was still shivering and his throat hurt like a bitch, but at least he was alive. Not exactly thanks to Ivan, but at least he’d tried.

“Seriously though,” Gilbert wheezed, doubling over every time he thought about it. “Who goes swimming when they can’t swim?”

“ _ Shut up, Gilbert, _ ” Arthur growled, sending him a venomous leer. Next to him, Ivan wasn’t so much chastised as fussed over, his sisters constantly making sure he was okay. Turned out Arthur wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to swim.

Arthur coughed into his fist, flinching at how much it hurt, before deepening his scowl.

“...Thanks,” he murmured to his companion, who shook his head.

“Do not mention it.  _ Ever. _ ”

That did not stop him from proposing to go warm up over a nice cup of tea, however.


	4. Belgica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Russia/Belgium
> 
> What better way to spend such a lovely day in the sun than with a foreign visitor?

Emma was glad that the meeting was finally over. Not only because it always gave extra work being the hosting country, but because it was a nice and warm day and she wanted to catch some rays of sun outside on a cafe terrace somewhere. The lively chattering of Brussels called to her, a nice pint of beer waiting to wet her throat.

There was a skip in her step as she exited the building, high heels clacking pleasantly against the pavement. Slowed down. Stopped. It appeared one of her guests had not left for their hotel yet.

The tall Russian known as Ivan was standing just outside the conference building, looking left and right at the cars passing by, a hint of both amusement and curiosity in his violet eyes. His large coat was draped over one arm, it being far too hot for such warm clothing. His free hand was restlessly pawing at his ever-present scarf, as if debating whether or not it was all right to expose more skin on such a lovely day. Emma regarded him for a moment before deciding that it was far too nice a day not to take this opportunity when it presented itself on a silver platter.

“Hello, stranger,” she said in a chipper voice, sliding in to stand beside him. The other jumped slightly, but quickly covered it up by turning towards her with one of his signature smiles.

“Ah, Emma!  _ Privet, privet _ ! The weather is nice today, is it not?”

“It certainly is,” the Belgian agreed readily, nodding her head. She had to peer up at her companion to be able to look him in the eye, but that was fine. She wasn’t easily intimidated by someone’s size. “Aren’t you going back to your hotel?”

For once, the other didn’t seem to have an answer at the ready, pale cheeks dusted with pink, making Emma pause. Certainly she had seen the other blush before… Like the one time where his heart had fallen out! Still, for whatever reason, he seemed far more shy today.

“I was thinking about making a walk before returning,” Ivan admitted, making Emma straighten her back. “And-”

“You’d like a guide?” she enthusiastically interrupted him, biting her inner cheek when his eyes widened in surprise. Perhaps she had only jumped to conclusions, perhaps he wanted to be left alone and was only humouring her. But Emma knew that today was far too beautiful to spend by yourself, and if the personification of Russia was going to tour  _ her _ capital, who better to guide him than Emma?

At last, his face thawed into a warm smile, one unlike he’d ever shown, and Emma could feel her heart start up a happy tango.

“ _ Da _ . I would like that.”

* * *

“Why is the little boy peeing?”

“ _ Because _ , Ivan! It’s  _ Manneken Pis _ , one of Brussels’ main tourist attractions!”

Ivan scrunched his brow, leaning over the small fence separating them from the tiny statue; a fountain shaped like a boy who was indeed, urinating. “Your tourists are weird if they want to see little boy pee.”

Emma snorted, ignoring several heads turned her way; some in interest, others in a sort of kinship, the one every Belgian felt when they were in their country’s presence.

“Well, the  _ Atomium _ is basically just a huge statue of balls, so get used to it my friend.”

Ivan laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are joking!”

“Nee nee, I mean it! We have statues of balls and piss! Welcome to  _ la Belgique _ , my beautiful  _ België _ ! Oh, but you haven’t seen anything before you’ve tasted our beer!”

Guiding the other away from the small tourist attraction, they wandered small cobblestone streets and followed the locals to shimmering channels along which bartenders had placed tables and chairs for their customers to enjoy the summer in all its glory.

“You truly are a strange land,” Ivan chuckled, Emma whirling around and leaning up to teasingly pinch his nose. He swatted her hands away, not at all offended, in fact, having a sense of mirth in his fond gaze. Ivan didn’t have that good of a relationship with most countries. It must feel good for him to simply relax with someone who didn’t distrust him or cower away in his presence. Emma would gladly provide him. She liked it when everyone felt at ease.

“Strange can be a compliment too, you know,” she said with a cheerful giggle, watching as a teenage boy began playing football (but not what silly America called football, the other kind) with a child who was waiting for his parents to come pick him up after school. Further down the street, an old man was walking his dog, and behind him a couple of young lovers were strolling along hand in hand. She loved her people, her culture, even if they sometimes couldn’t get along. But then again, didn’t all countries have their own problems? Nobody was perfect, after all.

A soft gasp make her look up, after which she immediately slapped her hands over her mouth to suppress a giggle. A stray butterfly had chosen to land on the very tip of Ivan’s nose, and the man was currently frozen to the spot and cross-eyed as he tried to keep his attention to the tiny fluttering insect.

Emma carefully brought up a finger and plucked the butterfly right from his nose, softly blowing on it until it flew away. When she looked back up, Ivan was regarding her with that same warm smile, eyes hooded and expression more than contented. In an impulsive movement Emma leant up, and kissed the very spot where the butterfly had just settled.

Not even waiting for a reaction, she pulled away and turned around, cheeks rosy. “Come on, slowpoke. We still have lots of places to visit before the day is over!” Not even waiting for him, she continued on her way, bouncing on the warm stones beneath.

Her heart skipped another beat when the other’s heavy footsteps caught up to her, and she felt a hand brush along her own.


	5. Drinks Are On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: England/Prussia
> 
> Arthur is in dire need of some refreshment. Gilbert is willing to provide.

Arthur could feel the music droning on and on inside his head, creating a dull ache that probably wouldn’t leave until the early hours. He sat slumped over the bar, cradling a glass of whiskey in his left hand, right hand fisted into a ball and tucker under his chin. He wished he could ignore the harsh neon lights occasionally flashing into his peripheral vision, not at all helping in what his friends had called “a fun night out”. Yes, he had needed some time to relax after work, but this could hardly be called relaxing. Especially since the others were already swinging away on the dance floor, leaving him behind to tend to himself.

Arthur begrudgingly lifted his cheek from the sticky countertop to take another sip of alcohol, feeling it burn in his throat. At least he wasn’t cold in here, one look outside confirming that it was still snowing. Another look was blocked off by a sudden pair of red eyes jumping in the way.

“Hello, stranger,” the other chuckled, drawing a grim smirk from the blond. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“Shut up, Gilbert,” Arthur sighed. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

“Who says this is a game?” the albino asked innocently, slipping onto the chair next to his. “I just noticed you were a bit down and decided to come keep you company. Isn’t that nice of me?”

“Oh yes, very nice, taking pity on me,” Arthur snapped with a sarcastic bite to his tone.

Gilbert’s mouth twitched into a grimace, but then he bowed his head, leaning in. “Okay, that came out wrong. Let me start again. Can I get you something to drink?”

Arthur paused, tilting his head at the side so he could better look at the other. “I already have a drink,” he pointed out, raising his glass.

Gilbert seemed momentarily perplexed, then quickly shook his head and started over. “Yeah, you do, but I mean, is there anything  _ I _ can get you?”

“Gilbert?” Arthur asked, something beginning to dawn on him. Something about Gilbert’s behaviour tonight seemed both out-of-character and oddly refreshing, as if he actually wasn’t thinking about himself for once (not that he was  _ that _ egocentric, but he did like to boast).

To Arthur’s greatest surprise, the other began blushing. His grin became slightly more sheepish as he quickly looked away, scratching at his nose. “I uh… No, you know what? Never mind. I can see I’m interrupting. I’ll be-”

“You know,” Arthur interrupted the interrupter, a secretive smile creeping onto his face when the other immediately stopped to look at him. “I’d almost say you were trying to flirt with me.”

Gilbert’s blush intensified, but he tried to quickly laugh it off. “ _ What? _ Come on Arthur, why would I ever-”

“And I’d almost say I’d let you,” Arthur finished his sentence, smirk smug as he waited for a reply.

Gilbert’s mouth was still opened to finish his rant, but his eyes widened when he heard the verbal confirmation that yes, he hadn’t imagined the growing interest coming from both sides over these last few weeks, and that something nice was blooming between the two high school friends, and yade yade yade.

His eyes lit up as he grinned even wider, leaning in again. “So, can I get you anything or what?” he asked excitedly, very pleased that his flirting had “worked” (as if Arthur had put in zero effort).

“Depends,” Arthur laughed, eyes hooded as he quickly threw back the rest of his whiskey. “What can you give to me that I want?”

Oh, Gilbert had lots of stuff.


	6. When You're In Desperate Need of an Exorcist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Prussia/Romano
> 
> Do NOT accidentally summon demons.

Gilbert’s lips moved in soundless muttering as his finger followed sentence after sentence in his own personal bible, the book already needing reinforcements to make sure the pages didn’t simply fall apart. Not that Gilbert didn’t take care of his books, but this was simply a very old item, being passed down from generation to generation. And it said absolutely nothing on how to get rid of demons.

“Are you done yet, you bastard?” the strange creature behind him grumbled, flying through the air with a lot of noise coming from his flapping wings.

Gilbert hummed something noncommittal in return, before remembering that he was trying to pretend the demon wasn’t there, and quickly going back to his research. It wasn't his fault he had summoned a demon and didn’t know how to get rid of it! He was a devoted priest, only doing his job! He had just been a little curious when he’d encountered a strange sentence in Latin and decided to read it out loud, was it his fault that this foul beast had been called upon by that act? No. No, it wasn’t.

Gilbert could feel every nerve in his body stand on end when the demon propped his chin atop a shoulder, trying to read along with him.

“I cannot concentrate like this,” Gilbert said through gritted teeth, upon which the demon (who had introduced himself as Lovino, but Gilbert refused to call him that) let out a single barking laugh.

“Oh, you call me all the way over here without anything to do, and then  _ you _ are the one who can’t concentrate?  _ Lo stupido.” _

“Just shut up and let me work,” Gilbert hissed, trying even harder to ignore the other’s presence, tip of his nose almost touching the pages as he bent over to read.

Lovino quirked an eyebrow- Gilbert couldn’t see it, but even within the fifteen minutes he had come to know the demon, he guessed that was what he would do right now.

“Oh my. Such dirty words for a priest,” he said dryly, giving a sarcastic swish of the tail. “But speaking of dirty…” He wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, making Gilbert shudder at the invasive contact. “I just thought of something we can do while I’m here. To pass the time.”

“What are you-” Gilbert turned his head just as a wet tongue licked at his cheek, hands flying under his robes to try and unbuckle his belt.

Oh.

No.

Faster than light Gilbert whirled around and pushed the other off, holding him at an arm’s length with a furious gaze. “Priests do not have sex with demons,  _ du Hurensohn _ !”

Lovino gave a sultry pout, not at all resembling the wicked monsters stories always made demons out to be. “You’re no fun,” he sighed, ruffling his wings in agitation.

Gilbert’s expression hardened further as a sudden thought of “cute” intruded his conscious thought, and quickly turned back to his book.

“Whatever. I don’t care. Go fuck a horse if you want to have sex so badly.”

“Oh, I will!” Lovino snapped before turning around, barely ducking out of the way when Gilbert threw the book at him (and instantly regretted it, kneeling down to ask for forgiveness as Lovino’s cackling filled the empty church).


	7. Bon Anniversaire, Chéri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: France/Russia
> 
> Francis knows just how to surprise his boyfriend for their one-week anniversary.

“Can I look yet?”

“No, not yet  _ chéri _ .”

“How long?”

“Almost there.”

Ivan giggled as he almost stumbled over what had to be a branch, soft hands correcting him and gently guiding him further into what felt like very high grass. He impatiently pawed at his scarf, bound before his eyes so as not to spoil the surprise, and quickly pulled back when those same soft hands lightly swatted at him.

“There. You can take it off now.”

Ivan impatiently did as told, though his movements were both fast and careful, not wanting to rip up his most precious garment. He gasped when his gaze fell upon his surprise, eyes widening, glistening happily.

Sunflowers. Thousands and thousands of beautiful sunflowers, stretching as far as the eye could reach, left and right and back and forth. They shone golden under the late afternoon sun, gently swaying in the soft summer breeze.

Ivan turned towards Francis, his boyfriend of now exactly a week, who was sheepishly awaiting his response. He became a little less sheepish when Ivan surged forward, capturing him in a tight embrace.

“ _ Spasibo, solnste! Spasiba balshoye! _ How did you know I love-”

“Ivan,” Francis chuckled, freeing himself from the hug and holding the other at an arm’s length. “You have sunflowers in your garden, in your room, you constantly doodle them in your notebooks, you have a sunflower pin for your scarf!”

Ivan blushed, smiling owlishly. “Oh.”

Francis nodded, laughing gleefully. Then he stopped, still smiling, eyes dropping. “I would like to give you something else,  _ mon cher _ .”

Ivan could feel his heart speed up ever so slightly, head automatically bobbing up and down. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes.”

Ivan did as told, heat rising to his cheeks when he felt warm breath ghost over his skin. He had never kissed before.

His heart momentarily stopped when he felt a soft pair of lips graze his own, hands trembling as he tried to keep still. Francis brought a hand to his cheek and began stroking a thumb along his cheekbone, lips still present against Ivan’s mouth, not quite pressing, waiting for the other to relax.

Ivan let out a shuddering breath as he sagged forward ever so slightly, allowing his lips to part, to taste the perfume of his partner’s breath. Only then did Francis deepen the kiss, one hand gliding to the other’s broad back, lips gliding over his own.

Ivan was happy to share their first kiss together right then and there, in that field of gold, where warmth caressed his skin and his nose was filled with the scent of his beloved flowers.


End file.
